


The Cafe

by pagesofnothing



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, F/F, Fake AH Crew, Female Jack Pattillo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:42:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23577106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pagesofnothing/pseuds/pagesofnothing
Summary: Becca is the reluctant manager of a pastry shop turned cafe. With no training in how to run the place and an inability to make a good coffee 'Pierre's Patisserie' Builds a reputation as a criminal front, even though it may be the only legitimate business on this Los Santos street.Thankfully her Friday morning regular and long time crush, Jack, is there to keep her feeling sane.
Relationships: Jack Pattillo/Original Character(s)
Kudos: 9





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first story I have ever finished, or even thought about posting anywhere.  
> Long story short I got a fat crush on Jack Pattillo and I've got an even fatter crush on women, so here, enjoy my shameless self indulgence of FAHC Jack.
> 
> I'll have the second half up just as soon as I proofread it. 
> 
> Rach xx

Is it bad that I can recognise a gang member on sight when they walk into my bakery? Even the ones better at hiding, they all have a little caution in their step, just a smidge of apprehension in their curious, wondering eyes.

Slow approach to the counter. Quick read on whatever customers are already there. Brief skim over all the cakes, pastries, breads, and pies. A plain coffee, to sit in. Nothing else.

It's mostly the order that tips me off, if I didn't clock them sooner; just a coffee. They're not in a rush, and we clearly don't specialise in our drinks menu, so why aren't they buying something sweet to go with it?

Because they heard the coffee is bad, and the shop is mostly empty, aside from regulars, lots of deliveries going in and out. Because there were several rumoured gang fronts on this street. Because the coffee is cheap and not one of them has tried one of the best damn pastries in Los Santos, laid out right there before them.

The proof would be in the pudding if they'd just fucking try one. 

Is it bad that I'm so frustrated with them? Probably. In fact, almost definitely, because if there's one way to be even more suspicious, it's to have no enthusiasm in serving a customer on such a quiet day.

But it's not my fault the coffee is bad, I never said that a cafe section was a smart move for the patisserie, especially when the bosses wouldn't even give the manager lessons on how to serve the damn drinks! I'm a pastry chef god damn it, I didn't sign up for this, or all the trouble it’s given me since. 

The man sits, back to the wall with a view of the door and the counter, he can even spot the staff door from where he's seated. Yet another giveaway. He sips the coffee with a slight grimace at the taste; the burly stranger is either a really avid coffee drinker, or not a coffee person at all. Should have got the tea, at least I know how to brew that properly. 

I roll my eyes, shake my head, and get back to prepping an order for collection; a box of fresh croissants, a box of some small bread rolls, and two dozen muffins, of various flavours. It was 9.15am and the architecture firm in the building a few blocks away was having some kind of big meeting- or just a treat for the staff, I wasn't sure- and pick up was at around 9.30, so whoever's was collecting would be here soon. I love orders like that, oddly. They tend to pay in advance, and to get up early to make such specialised batches on top of the usual was therapeutic to me, it detracted from the monotony of the usual morning routine. 

I was the only one in so far as we didn't even get close to busy before half 11, so I just hoped the burly man glaring around the room and making notes on his phone didn't make any trouble for me or the only other customer. 

My friday morning regular, a frankly gorgeous woman called Jack, was sat near the counter in one of the comfier, soft seats in the shop, and also close enough for me to chat too as I worked or sat on my own little stool.

"We've got another one then, Bec."

We were just out of earshot of the man as Jack continued to write in her planner, and I made my own notes in the kitchen ledger. 

"He's new, too, and fidgety; can see him wanting to tap his finger on something. Nervous."

The red head hums, taking a bite of her custard crown before speaking. "You've got a good eye- sure you ain't running anything here?"

I snort at her teasing tone, "Yeah, a bakery, not that anyone will try the wares. You get used to seeing them, and anyway I wouldn't have the time for all this shady business going on, too much stress." 

Jack takes a very pointed bite of her pastry, and pats the boxes on the chair next to her. "You've got a considerable enough following as it is, god forbid I show up on a friday without your 'wares', I'd be kicked out!" 

"You'll have to drag them here someday, let me meet these mystery fans of mine one of these days." 

She turned to face me now, good humour hiding behind mock horror.

"And lose this precious one on one time with the one and only Becca Smith? My heart couldn't bear such a travesty."

The warmth in those blazing brown eyes got me every damn time I got to see her, never mind when we started to really talk and Jack would just light up. Simple banter or outright flirting, it didn't matter, there was a fire in her eyes that I would never get enough of.

"Hmm, maybe someday you'll be able to share me for a morning, I know you can do it."

"Ah, but Bec! I don't want to!"

I loved hearing that laugh. I loved laughing with her. I really liked her, even if we've only seen one another on fridays. She has been coming for a while though...

Someday I'll work up the courage to actually ask her out, do something other than chat over the counter for an hour once a week. I'll really get to know her, her job and whoever's it is she calls family, her truest likes and dislikes. I do think she wants that too, and I can see that something is holding her back also, though I can’t tell what it is. She's always so brazen and confident, leading conversations where she's comfortable with, and making it feel so natural.

"You could be seen as accommodating the fronts here though." Jack continues the conversation we had been having.

"I suppose, but I can’t help other peoples' stupidity. I serve one wrong person a bad coffee and suddenly it's all eyes on us, every gang and police officer in the area is on my ass, scoping the place for activity." I was getting a little heated now, though my voice was still low enough to be inaudible to the man across the room, I didn't get to complain often. "If any of those dumbasses spent just a fraction of the time they spend watching me looking out the damn window, they'd see exactly where one of the fronts is." 

"I get you, Bec, its real frustrating when you're trying to do something honest and you keep getting assumed into things" 

"But such is life in LS." I consoled myself, calming down again.

"Yeah." She paused, contemplative. "Out the window, huh? Care to enlighten me?"

"Hah, like you haven't worked it out yet."

"No, actually, I haven't." She felt free to laugh.

"Please, you’re just testing me again, aren't you? It's the barbers across the way."

"Oh? How so?" Jack's face was impassive as she considered my words.

I sighed, "They don’t take many new customers or walk ins, but there’s always someone in the chair, and someone 'cutting'." The sarcasm was heavy here, because often the gent in the chair didn't even need a trim. "The amount of people in and out in the day is also pretty unreasonable for a barber that barely cuts hair."

She smiled at me, "Told you you have an eye for detail." I winked at her, before sighing again.

"Haven't got a good read on you yet though- either you're a damn good criminal, or you're just the most streetsmart civilian the city has seen."

"Nah, I'll let you keep that little title for now." I raise my brow at her for that one. "I hadn't noticed, but now you've pointed it out I see it." She clarifies as she stands to leave. It must be 9.30. Time up on our weekly catch up, and that pick up would be in soon, heralding a long day of fending off suspicion.

“See ya next week, Jack. and let me know if that order switches up any.”

“Will do, Bec! And I hope you get some peace and quiet this week.”

~~~

I did not get any peace and quiet that week.

By late friday afternoon I was at my wits end with three new gang members visiting the shop, and a few more that had been coming for a week or two. Those ones were a bit more aggressive and openly suspicious, and there wasn’t much I could do that wouldn’t put me in even more danger. Though I can’t say I felt particularly safe in the first place.

There had been incidents in the past, if I’m honest, and I’ve taken a good few self-defence classes since to try and give me an extra edge. I choose not to carry a firearm though; I’m not a very good shot and it just seems like asking for even more trouble and suspicion. Plus I don’t know if I could ever pull the trigger.

Pepper spray though, that I could handle when I needed to, and unfortunately I have in the past. Oddly enough I do feel a little guilty sometimes, that shit seems too hurt. A lot.

On Monday night though, I don’t feel guilty that night.

The burly, muscle guy from friday had come in everyday since, and became more and more pushy, questioning me about my customers and the details of the business I was running. I kept it civil for as long as I could, but I can never say that I don’t have a temper, or a short fuse. I did not attend a french culinary school for years to have to deal with this utter crap on such a daily basis. 

So I snapped and told the dumbass that this clearly wasn’t a front, goddamn it, I just can’t serve coffee! And if any of the gangs in this town had any sense they’d have a look around and notice the real activity because dear god its so obvious and they are so goddamn lucky I had no interest in being a snitch because I could ruin them.

I can’t say angry me is particularly smart, either, but it has been a year or two of this shit, and yes, it is ridiculous that I haven’t gotton the hang of a coffee machine in that time, but I don’t even drink the stuff so fuck them. Come talk to me when you make fresh, homemade filo pastry tarts every morning alongside all the other pastries, breads, cakes, and special brewed tea I serve five days a week and prep for the other two.

The guy looked furious, but he left pretty quickly, and I really hoped that would be the end of it- I didn’t think it would be, but I hoped. 

It was not a fun journey home that night. I only lived a few blocks north of the bakery, so it wasn’t an unreasonable walk, and anyway I couldn’t afford a car, or the cost of insurance and parking at Los Santos rates. Unfortunately there were a few shady looking alleyways for some less savory characters to lurk in. This was unnerving enough anyway, but I had significantly pissed someone off this morning, and grudges are sure to be held with the delicate pride of LS’ lowlifes.

I was pretty close to home when the man stepped into my path, alone, thank goodness. I really rather hoped that my usual method of ignoring my problems, and walking right past them, would work tonight. I’d much prefer to not be involved in anything this evening.

I of course had no such luck when the hulking man grabs my arm as I pass, swinging me into the alley and knocking the wind from me as I slam into the wall, head knocking the coarse brick.

“Oh, fancy seeing you here!” 

Shut up Becca! Shut up!

“Don’t sound so surprised.” The poor man seemed a little put out.

“Ah, these things happen. Who would have thought a pastry chef would be such a harrowing occupation?” I am reaching a hand into my bag, searching for that little can, but he doesn’t seem to notice, he’s rather angry at how calm I’m coming across, if his clenching fists are anything to go by.

“This attitude doesn’t help your case any.”

“Which case? The ‘not a front’ case? Or the ‘please don’t hurt me’ case? I have a feeling I’m going to lose one of them anyway, so I’ll let you decide.”

A knife glints in his hand, some sick glint mirrored in his eyes as he takes a step forward. At least he’s not a gun person, so he doesn’t seem intent on killing, only maiming; I have a chance of living through this. Or he’s a real sick fuck. At least I’m not dealing with the Vagabond; now that's a knife guy I do not want to ever cross . They say he gets real creative.

“How gracious.”

I fumble the mace spray out of my bag and aim it at him before he can get much closer, and manage to get his eyes as he begins to move his knife hand. I get my body out of the way, but I can feel a large slice across my forearm where he managed to get me. It doesn’t hurt too badly yet, but I know that’s the adrenaline pumping as I make a sprint from the alley to my apartment block, which was mercifully quite close. 

I can hear the man yelling behind me, agonized and furious. When I make it through the main doors I make a quick call to the police, explaining that I was attacked and narrowly escaped. I learned early not to mention my place of work, it never helped my case or the response time. Hopefully with the information I gave them they’d be able to get there and keep him off my back for a little while at least. I let the panic I was feeling bleed into my voice as I spoke, knowing that might urge the LSPD to move a little faster. 

They are the sort to come running to a damsel in distress, though they’re not the sort to be above seeking favours either. There’s a few reasons I keep anonymous with them. Pigs.

I clutch my arm as I wait for the elevator, not feeling like contending with the stairs with such a wound as I try to calm myself back to my usual exasperated mindset and act.

307\. Home sweet home. 

In a daze I make my way to the bathroom and the first aid kit I keep there, as well stocked as I can manage, and I count my stars that I bought dark coloured towels for this place.

It’s… deep. That is probably not very good. But hey, at least I already had tomorrow booked off work? It's the little things?

I did not want to visit the hospital, didn’t want to deal with the questions or the expenses, so I try to clean it and bandage the wound as best I can before heading to the living room and sitting down to gather my thoughts.

Before I can even think about thinking, I hear shouting from my upstairs neighbors, followed by loud shushing, and the more shouting.

“...Oh fu… ou Gavin… shit…!”

“Michael! Don’t s… ael!”

It was endearing to hear my occasional neighbors bickering, but this was an evening where I really didn’t have it in me to listen to the muffled disagreements. Picking myself up, not even thinking about the bloodied work clothes I was still wearing, I went to tell them off. Or maybe I just wanted to see a friendly face, I consider as I bang on the door of 407.

It’s Jeremy who swings open the door, already apologising.

“I’m so sorry about them 307, they started playing this co-op game and god its so funny Michael is so pissed-”

He stopped short, finally catching my appearance, which I had honestly forgotten was so terrible.

“Jesus christ Becca what the fuck happened to you?! Are you okay? Who the fuck did this?”

I was taken aback by the reaction, if I’m honest. I wasn’t particularly close to this group, and they were in a gang themselves for christ sake, this was a safehouse of theirs. Or at least that’s what I had assumed with their sporadic visits and other… lets say behaviours I had picked up on.

Totally not the guns and suspicion I had been greeted with the first time I had knocked on the door to tell them they were gonna get a noise complaint.

I’d say we were friendly acquaintances now, though I wouldn’t think close enough for Jeremy to usher me into the living room, checking me over for other injuries before focusing on my poorly bandaged arm. Nor for the riotous Michael and Gavin to jump up and rush over either, asking what they can do.

Maybe I got a concussion when I was thrown against that wall.

Actually, that is possible.

“I- its okay, guys. I’m fine. Just you were a bit loud, and I guess I wasn’t up for listening to it tonight. Sorry.”

“Sorry?”

“The fuck are you sorry for?!”

Gavin and Michael were very good at talking over each other. Jeremy rolls his eyes and lightly grips my arm. 

“Do you mind if I have a look? It’s not very well bandaged.”

I laughed a little, though that throbbing pain was beginning to set in. “Yeah, go for it. I don’t really know what I’m doing.”

Gavin is sent for a first aid kit, which is much better kept than my own, before he leaves again, mentioning being squeamish and wanting to call someone. Jeremy unwraps my poor handiwork of a bandage and Michael takes over, inspecting the wound before picking out supplies. He’s much more gentle and methodical than his mannerisms would ever imply, taking the time to fully wash his hands, sanitize them, and slip on a pair of gloves.

“So what happened?” Jeremy’s voice is calming.

“Umm… A misunderstanding and a short temper? Same as always I guess.” I feel Michaels grip tightens a little where he’s working.

“This has happened before?”

“I mean, I’ve never been knifed before, but, um, yeah. Similar situations.”

I can’t tell if he’s suspicious of me now, or just angry at the perpetrators, past and present. He seems the most defencive of the three, but also the most reasonable, and I don’t want to be on the wrong side of that protective streak. I hurry to explain myself a little better and hopefully they don’t get it wrong as well. 

“I work at the pastry shop just off the boulevard, and that street is known to have a few different gang fronts on it, and because I can’t for the life of me serve a good coffee, and because none of those idiot cops or gangs will try a pastry, a lot of people think we’re one of them. Because I’m the manager and I’m on most days, that puts most of the suspicion on me, so my short temper and I get into situations like these.”

“Oh!” Jeremy has an enlightened look on his face, “Pierre’s, right? Is that the shop?”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah we heard of you too, Pattillo cleared you a year or two ago though, pretty quickly.”

That was a barrage of information for my pain addled mind to comprehend.

Pattillo, that name, that was a Fake AH name. Have I been investigated by the Fake AH Crew? Have I been yelling at three members of the most notorious gang in LS for them to shut the hell up? For months?

Jesus, it's obvious too, isn’t it? Of course they were Fakes just look at them! Mogar was cleaning the cut on my arm. Mogar! And Jeremy was Rimmy Tim. And of bloody course Gavin was the Golden boy, who else is walking around LS with those dumbass golden glasses? Actually, a few people, but that’s not my point.

“Yo, Becca? You good?”

“Yeah! Yeah I’m fine.” I offered a wavering smile to the concerned Michael. “Just really should have already guessed you guys were Fake AH. And it’s a bit alarming that you have been investigating me at some point.”

“Hmm, yeah I guess we do have a bit of a reputation. Don’t worry about it though, we think you’re pretty cool, and Pattillo seemed to think you were solid too.”

Michael laughed as he reached for what I think is a suture kit, “Lil J, that probably doesn’t help very much; Ja- Pattillo is a pretty intimidating name to be thrown about, even if she doesn’t seem so bad to us.” He looks at me very seriously now, but not severely. “You might have to meet the other three of the main crew now, since you know who us three are. I’m giving you a heads up because Ramsey, Pattillo, and the Vagabond are all pretty big names, and I get that that can seem scary, but they’re not as bad as you think, and if we like you, they will too.

“Now I’m gonna give you a few stitches to keep this cut closed, and one of us will be around to take them out in a week or so- or you can swing by a clinic, but this way it's free!”

I laughed at his wide smile, oddly not… terrified? Even as he admitted his stitches wouldn’t be as good as Pattillo’s, I knew I was in capable hands, hands that would protect me should I need it.

Could I be friends with the Fake AH Crew? I let my thoughts carry me, distracting me from the feeling in my arm- Michael had numbed it, but there was still some sensation.

I mean it certainly felt like I could, and they seemed unfazed by me being here, happy to help out with how quickly I was ushered in and attended to. It was nice to be greeted by a person for once, my little cat was rarely so eager to give me attention. Speaking of,

“Do you guys like cats?”

Jeremy perked up, and Gavin, who had just returned from another room in the flat, brightened. They spoke in unison.

“Cats?”

I nodded, sagely if I say so myself. “Good answer. Can one of you check on my Charlie? I forgot to check her food and water, and I didn’t mean to be gone as long as I have been. And honestly I’m not sure I’ll be able to lift her food bag when I get down there.”

The pair of them are halfway to the door before I even finish, and Michael is chuckling beside me.

“Her food is in the cupboard to the left of the sink, and my door should be unlocked!” I call after them.

“I think you just found the key to the hearts of those two.”

“Need to make sure you lot are worthy of my friendship.”

“I’m quite sure we aren’t, but I appreciate that we’re in the running.”

As he finished wrapping my arm in some fresh bandages, I glared at him.

“This may be the blood loss, shock, or concussion talking, but I am quite sure you are. While I know the reputation shit, and respect that it’s got backing, you lads are the least threatening trio I have ever stumbled upon.”

“I’ll try not to take that as a blow to my ego.”

“I have a feeling your ego could do with a blow some days.”

Michael had a pretty amazing laugh when it wasn’t all maniacal, like in those heist videos the news shares.

“Yeah, you’re probably right. So, do I get a reward for my steller bedside manner and neighborly actions?”

“A free pastry of your choosing, if you ever swing by the bakery? Served with a very rare smile, never before seen by a gang member in Pierre’s?”

“I’ll take it.”

“See you soon, then. I don’t work Tuesday or Wednesday, so any other time I’ll be there.”

“We’ll see you, then. And we’ll try and keep it down tonight, sorry about that.” Michael follows me to the door and I open it just as Jeremy and Gavin rounded the corner.

“It’s all good, thanks for the help. Goodnight, guys!”

I waved them off and went back down the hall to a chorus of farewells, and felt awfully cosy at the thought.

~~~

Work on Thursday was a bit more strenuous, having to take special account of the weakness in my arm, and the pull of the stitches, made some of the tasks much more difficult and tiring than usual, but at least I was mostly left alone by any gang members, and the man from Monday night was nowhere in sight- I could only hope that he got picked up, but I didn’t have much faith, and resigned myself to being careful and taking taxi’s home.

I was anticipating Friday morning, however. I wanted to see Jack and to fall into our usual conversations, to feel a bit more normal again. And I knew she would really care about what happened, and understand how I was coping. But then I was always excited to see Jack.

The lads called in on Thursday though, just as I was getting ready to close up, and they even offered to help take out the rubbish and clear up some of the dishes in the kitchen. It was a welcome reprieve to have some friendly faces around me, and for the work to be finished off quicker.

"Hey, do you think one of you guys could give me a lift home? It's okay if you're busy, I can just grab a taxi."

"Of course we can, love. We're staying at the flat tonight anyway."

I was so relieved at the Golden Boy's smile, which is not something I ever thought I would say. 

"Thanks, Gav." I hoisted the box of unsold wares from the counter after doing one final scan of the kitchen and the cafe, ensuring everything was in place for the next day. I had many of the morning's pastries ready to go in the oven, all laid out on trays in the fridge, and there were plenty of breads baked that afternoon that would be more than fresh for the morning.

"In which case, I'm good to go when you guys are. And here's all the other pastries as a thanks."

Jeremy and Michael lit up this time, Jeremy grabbing the box from me with a wide smile before opening the door for me with a flourish, meanwhile Michael was rough housing with Gavin again as they wrangled eachother out the door. 

As our laughter and shouts filled the street outside, I had never felt more at ease leaving work. And as I locked the door it occured to me how lonely the job of closing could be. I could get used to this quite quickly, though I know it's not going to be an option very often; all these men were crime lords, for god's sake, they're not going to have the time or patience to escort me home five days a week. But I will enjoy it while I can.

I am walked over to a pretty simple 4 door car, and while it was still top of the range and split new, I was relieved it wasn't any of their notorious or more ridiculous cars. Their outfits weren't as notable as their crew gettup either, so they must be in hiding for a little while. I wonder where the rest of the crew is?

We make it to the apartment block in record time, Michael swinging the car wildly and running all the lights. It was a thrilling experience, and I tried to console my terror with that he knew what he was doing.

"Do you guys wanna hang out for a while? I'm ordering in food for dinner if you want anything, and if you want to see Charlie?"

"Yeah I'm down for that! And did I see you had a few consoles? What kinda games you got?"

"I get to play with Charlie again?"

"I'm game."

Jeremy, Gavin, and Michael all respond at once and I laugh as I wave them down my corridor. 

We have a really fun evening, and get along like old friends, and as we start getting into rounds of Smash and Mario Kart, I can see why they get so loud and raucous upstairs all the time, I daresay I join in tonight. 

I'll leave 207 a box of pastries tomorrow as an apology.


	2. Chapter 2

I must fall asleep on the sofa at some point, because in flashes I remember Michael leaning over me, asking if I could get up to go to bed, and then Jeremy asking if he could carry me there. I remember nodding at that, and lulled to sleep by the bobbing walk to my bed in the next room, down a short corridor. 

I faintly remember hearing the young men leave, after the muffled sounds of tidying up and their hushed whisper/shouts. About as quiet as they could be, I imagine. I appreciated it.

When I got up for work the next morning I caught sight of a note on the table, thanking me for having them and that they had fun- it was signed by Gavin in a very pretty metallic gold pen. Very Golden Boy if I do say so myself.

I file the note away into a box on my bookshelf, thinking I would quite like to keep the memento- I loved scrapbooking things like that, and I had a feeling this would remain a fond memory, even if our friendship isn’t exactly sustainable.

I was a little late to work that day, arriving at 6.45 instead of 6, but I wasn't concerned; I got most prep work done yesterday afternoon and I had plenty of time to get the ovens started and morning pastries baked, as well as Jack's usual order. She normally arrives between 8 and 8.30, and stays until 9.30, so I wasn't in a huge rush there, either.

As I work, preheating the ovens and lifting the trays out of the fridges, I ponder how I will explain what happened to Jack, how much to disclose to the woman about who helped me. Of course I wanted to tell her the whole story, but I wouldn’t betray the boys like that. The Fakes. And I get the feeling Jack might operate in the seedy underground of Los Santos as well, so I would rather not risk anybody’s safety.

I move as swiftly as I can setting up, going easy on my healing arm as I await the chime of the door due in an hour's time. Finished with the majority of the manual work I make myself some tea- chamomile with some honey this morning- and sit on my stool with the book I’m reading this week, keeping an ear out for timers in the kitchen as I enjoy this most relaxing part of my day with the rising sun bouncing of the skyscraper opposite, casting a warm and cosy glow through the cafe.

By seven forty-five I had finished another act of the play I was reading (Shakespeare's As you Like It), lifted the first batch pastries from the cooling racks to the display case, and the second batch from the ovens to the racks, and was just preparing the third batch to go in when I heard the unmistakable sound of a super car idling just outside the front of my shop. 

That can’t be good, I think as I make my way to the front, praying it was just some flashy celebrity showing off on the boulevard. 

No such luck.

I knew that custom blue Entity FX. The whole city did, and knew to fear it and its driver. And its crew.

That was a Fake’s car parked out there, and there was another one pulling up just behind it, hideously orange and purple.

As their engines cut out I managed to catch the rumble of a motorbike as it raced down the street, skidding to a stop just by the cars.

Oh boy, that was definitely the Vagabond. Oh shit.

The lads really could have warned me this was happening this morning. Or organised this away from my workplace; this really wouldn’t help with all the rumours. Or business.

Thankfully the three boys entered first, pilling out of Rimmy Tim’s nightmare of a vehicle and putting me somewhat at ease with their warm smiles and understanding expressions. They almost looked apologetic, even as they stood dressed in their signature work outfits. Gavin mouthed a sheepish ‘Sorry’ to me as the Kingpin slammed the passenger door of the Entity, seemingly having been arguing with the driver, Pattillo.

Oh god, I think as my breathing picks up, I really don’t want to deal with an angry Geoff Ramsey, especially not with the Vagabond stalking behind him like that. You don’t need to hear rumours to know this could be bad, you just had to watch the news to know its not just an empty threat.

Holy shit I was dealing with the Fakes.

C’mon Becca, pull yourself together! Breathe! You deal with gang members every day without even thinking about it, what's a few more?

I’m able to at least school my expression and breathing by the time the intimidating pair walk through the door, and feel some relief as the Kingpin seems to do the same, pausing once he steps through to the cafe floor and taking a deep breath, surveying the room and straightening his suit jacket. The Vagabond simply watches the room, stance unchanging and face unreadable through the notorious black skull mask he wears.

The lads had quickly huddled themselves by the display cases, talking over one another about which pastry or cake they each wanted, and I silently cursed them for abandoning me to face Ramsey alone. At least the Vagabond hadn’t turned his full attention on me yet; he was still searching the room for god knows what, and I can see him casually yet strategically moving across the floor to get a good look at the kitchen through the small window in the staff door. I heard he was a paranoid one.

I finally find my voice, looking between the Masked Mercenary and the King of Los Santos.

“You can check the back if you want, just don't touch any of the food; I've got an order due at two and I don't want to bake anything else today.”

I was thankful that my voice remained steady, and I even managed to maintain eye-contact with the man in the mask before he strode through the kitchen door. The lads looked mildly impressed, and the Kingpin cracked a smile.

“Thanks, he gets antsy when he doesn’t know all the exits, or the terrain.”

“Yeah, that figures... Can I get you guys anything? Or is this a strictly business visit?”

“Please, I’m sure you know the Lads won’t leave without something from that case.” We shared a chuckle and a glance at the trio around the end of the counter.

I was feeling much more at ease now as I pulled a selection of pastries from the case. As I bent down to reach the vanilla crowns on the bottom shelf I caught a brief glimpse of unmistakable red hair as the door chimed.

“Morning, Jack!” I called, feeling comfortable to speak casually, and thinking it wise to act nonchalant in this particular situation. “I’ll get your order out in a minute!”

The cafe fell suddenly silent and when I stood straight again I let my confusion show.

“What?” I asked looking around before catching onto ‘What’. Jack was what. 

Jack Pattillo was ‘what’.

“Oh.”

“Hi, Becca. Sorry.” Jack was stood just inside the door, wearing the full Pattillo outfit and looking quite at home surrounded by the Fake AH Crew, scratching her head awkwardly.

“Wow… um yeah, that… that actually makes some sense.”

The other four people in the room are openly staring at us both, and we’re not taking our eyes off each other. I can’t quite believe it, but I also completely do. Jack’s easy confidence, the obvious insider knowledge of the underground’s complex workings, her quick perception. It all made sense.

The lads seemed gobsmacked, while Ramsey seemed contemplative. The Vagabond had silently returned from the back and was now looming ominously behind me. Not too threatening though so that’s good.

I think he’s looking at the plate of pastries in my hand, to be honest.

I snap out of it. “Huh, well okay. You still want your usual, Jack?” she smiles, nodding and taking her usual seat nearby, and close enough to other tables that the whole group can get comfy.

“What about the rest of you? The coffee is infamously bad but I'm good at teas, milkshakes, and we have a bunch of cold drinks.”

Like that the silence is broken by the lads talking over each other, Michael and Jeremy walking behind the counter to peer into the drinks’ fridge, completely at home, while Gavin bounded across the front of the counter.

“Tea? Like real tea?” he pauses, looking at me sternly, “I mean, real. English. Tea.”

“Yes Gavin!” I laugh, “I lived with a British girl at school, I know what tea is. You want a pot, or just a cup?”

“Like I’m gonna pass up on a full pot of tea!”

“Noted, now go sit, it's crowded enough up here.”

While that exchange happened, I noticed Jeremy and Michael each pass a diet coke to Ramsey and the Vagabond before grabbing energy drinks for themselves. By the time I finished the teas -berry for Jack, English for Gavin, and peppermint for myself, though I keep it behind the counter by my stool- and carry the plates, cups, pots, and pastries out, the crew seem to have settled, the lads acting their rowdy selves, Gavin pausing to thank me for the tea, the Kingpin and Jack were having a quiet conversation, and the Vagabond even removed his mask to sip his coke and start on a doughnut.

The urban legend, with his striking face paint, was only slightly less intimidating with crumbs lining his lips and falling on his signature jacket.

Christ, I was terrified. The sight of Jack in her usual seat only doing so much to put me at ease, and I was glad for the lads’ casualness.

As I settled at my place behind the counter, taking a sip of my own freshly brewed tea, The Kingpin of Los Santos finally clears his throat from where he sits across from the counter, calling everyone's attention at once, silencing the lads.

Down to business then.

“So, Becca. Do you know what we’re doing here?”

A laugh almost bubbles up; what kind of question is that?! 

I quirk an eyebrow, smile tugging at my lips behind my cup, raised for a sip before the question froze me. “Scaring away any customer base I had left?”

The lads’ laughed at that one, Jack smiled and looked at me warmly, and even Ramsey rolled his eyes in a warm-ish manner, but god why can’t I stop myself from having an attitude when I’m pretending to be confident. That could have gotten me killed! I take a sip of my tea to calm myself before answering again.

“It's because I finally worked out who my annoying neighbours were.” I tossed a look at the still giggling trio.

“How did you work it out?” Ramsey asks calmly, and I suppose they need to know for security reasons in case it happens again.

“Michael was bandaging up my arm and I was telling them about rumours around this place. They mentioned that ‘Pattillo’ had cleared me a while back. The name was the give-away.”

Jack swung around to face me before anyone could say anything, clearly worried and alarmed.

“Bandage? Let me see. What happened?”

I glanced at the lads, surprised they hadn’t mentioned the incident, and held my injury out to the impatient and concerned Jack Pattillo who grasped it firmly and inspected the bandages wrapping my forearm.

I chuckle at her furrowed brow and perhaps conflicted expression. “I have more bandages and wrapping in the back, you can have a look if you want to inspect Michael's handiwork.”

Jack does just that, moving methodically and taking care not to jostle my arm too badly. It's Ramsey that asks what happened to me to hurt my arm.

“Just another gang member, they come in all the time to investigate and spend a few visits before they realise nothing suspicious was going on. Cops do it too. This guy first showed up last Friday. You’d remember him Jack, the big, burly guy.” Jack nods, absentminded as she inspects the stitches on my arm. I turn back to the table.

“Anyway, this asshole was being really pushy and asking a lot of questions, so I kinda go off on him a little on Monday, tell him to open his eyes and get lost. Fucking stupid of me, I know.” the crew chuckles a little.

“Walking home that night he drags me into an ally and pulls a knife on me, I manage to pepper spray him and get away, his blind flailing got me this nifty little cut, and I call the cops when I get home and hope they find him.” 

Jacks looking right at me, sympathy and a little pride in her eyes as she takes me in. I give her a small smile in return before I continue regaling the group with my tale.

“I half-ass wrap up my arm and think about what the hell I’m supposed to do, before I hear these bastards making a ruckus upstairs. Again.” They look sheepish, at least. “I go up purely to tell them to shut the fuck up, I’m having a bit of a goddamn evening here, and they end up fixing me up properly.

“Et voila! Here we are.” I look around to gauge the reactions, and honestly they aren’t bad. Vagabond of course looks murderous, but I think that's just his face, the boys look proud of themselves, smiling happily at me and their own contributions- knowing they saved me, probably. Jack was looking blankly at the counter now, not reacting outwardly to what was going on and deep in thought.

Ramsey was contemplative.

“And you weren't shocked or terrified when you learned about the lads’ occupation?”

I laughed genuinely at that one. 

“Oh god no! At least not this time. When I first knocked on that door the three of them answered fully armed. But since I could hear through my ceiling that their arguments were about Mario Party, it was a little tricky to take them too seriously at three in the morning. And in retrospect the Fake thing made sense; I’d seen them in enough pieces of their costumes, it made a lot of sense.”

The boys looked a little bashful now, as the Kingpin gave them a look.

“Same with you, Jack.” I take the woman’s hands from where they’re still holding my injured arm. “I could guess you were in some kind of crew or gang, just not which one.”

“Nah,” she finally speaks, squeezing my hands reassuringly and giving me a warm smile, “I always told you you were perceptive. Silly me, I thought I had you fooled.”

As we laugh together, just the two of us, my heart stutters. God do I love her laugh.

Ramsey clears his throat. “Alright then I guess we’re good here.” I must look surprised. “The Lads like you, Vagabond hasn't tried to kill you, Jack trusts you, and I trust Jack, and we background checked you two years ago. And you seem intelligent enough to know not to fuck us over.” he casts a pointed look to the masked mercenary at the far end of the table.

That look lost most of its gravity when I realised the man was on his fourth pastry and completely oblivious to the conversation. The Kingpin’s face crumpled and I laughed a little.

“Don’t worry, Ramsey, I’m not gonna fuck about and risk my safety with you guys. I like these guys and I’m warming up to you and Vagabond now too.”

“Then I guess you can call me Geoff like the rest of these dicks.”

“Sure thing, Geoff.”

Conversations begin to ebb and flow between the seven of us, even the Vagabond pitching in a few words. Probably to stop him eating more. Jack had lifted out her journal at some point, and myself the kitchen log, and we continued on our usual routine as the others chatted around us.

I eventually finished off my work, noting the front of house inventory and fridge temps, before looking at Jack, finding her already watching me.

“Sorry about all this, really.”

I wave her off, “No, don’t worry about it Jack. I’m glad I know, and I finally got to meet these fans of my pastries.”

“That you did.” She chuckles. “I was never getting out of that one, was I?”

“Hell no. Two years, huh?”

“To the day.” She looks a little sheepish as she smiles.

“And to think I met the family before you ever asked me out on that date? Today would have been the perfect time to take that step!” I fall back into our usual form of flirting, exaggerated and teasing, but Jack…

Jack wasn’t meeting me line for line. Jack was looking down at her journal instead of meeting my eyes. Jack was blushing.

Jack was blushing!

“Yeah…” She mumbles before looking up, meeting me with a shy smile. “Yeah, it was going to be.”

My heart wasn’t fluttering now; it was racing, skipping a beat with the intensity of Jack’s gaze, the light sparkling there, the warmth.

“Someone just had to go and get stabbed,” she joked, “Ruined my plans.”

I couldn’t quite believe my ears at that, she was really going to ask me out? Though stunned, I persevered.

“Au contraire! Why I suddenly find myself weakened, and need support by my capable and conveniently attractive dear friend! Who else could escort me home when I so fear for my life!”

“Why then I must! And surely the lady will need sustenance? I must provide a meal, and conveniently know a fine establishment nearby.”

“Ah, it is done then, I shall be collected this evening!”

We grin at each other for our arrangements and our little characters.

We were going on a date! I was going on a date! I was going on a date with Jack!

I am happy, and I gotta say, if I keep smiling like this its gonna start to hurt.

I am happy though. 

“Jack, is she the girl?” questions Gavin, and I finally noticed the hush that had fallen over the cafe. Michael elbows Gavin in the side.

“Of course she’s the girl, dumbass. Who else would be the girl?”

“The girl?” I ask teasingly.

“Yeah,” replies Geoff. “The girl Jack has been talking about for, oh, I don’t know? Two years!”

I just laugh, “Nice. I like being known for that!”

“Better than the whole gang affiliation thing?” asks Jeremy.

“Is that even a question? Thanks for that, by the way. Really helping my case.”

I point out the front windows where I can see people crossing the street before they get too close to the Fake’s infamous vehicles, some brave journalists setting up across the way to snap a few pictures. 

However, I do laugh when all the people looking in the storefront scramble to leave when the full attention of all the Fakes’ look out at them, though I am a bit sharp when I see the Vagabond, Mogar, and Rimmy Tim all reach for their guns or knives.

“Oi, you three! No weapons drawn in my shop or you’re out!”

The three offenders look sheepish, Jeremy and Michael apologising softly, and the Vagabond looking down after nodding in acknowledgement. The other three are of course laughing.

Looking at the crowds on the street I sigh. “This is either going to be the busiest day of my life, or the quietest. I’ve never had to fend off tabloids before.”

Geoff winced a little at that.

“Sorry, that’s my bad. Our protocol is normally full intimidation for these kinds of things.”

“Wow really? I didn’t notice.”

“Oh ha ha ha, you’re so funny Becca.”

“Excuse me, I’m hilarious. You, my good sir, are a bad planner.”

“Hey!”

“I mean,” mumbles Vagabond, “She’s not wrong.”

“Hey!” 

“C’mon Geoff,” Jack pats the crestfallen man’s shoulder. “We all know I’m the brains of the operation.”

Laughter erupts and the storefront has never felt so warm and homely.

“Don’t worry Geoff,” I cut in. “You’re still the pretty face of the crew.” 

The laughter continues louder as Geoff preens under the praise, playing along, and Jack’s grip on my hand squeezes fondly.

~~~

Before long the group piles out of the shop and into their cars, but not before I pass over their usual box of pastries and collecting Jack’s personal phone number into my phone.

And with an indignant squawk and a snatch I quickly had Gavin’s number too. Then Michael’s. Then Jeremy and Geoff. And to my utter shock, the Vagabond.

The mercenary handed my phone back with a goofy, crooked smile through his face paint that felt nothing but genuine. I looked down at my phone, surprised it made it to the Vagabond, and saw the name ‘Ryan’ in the contact information next to a little knife emoji. 

I look up at the man with a grin, grateful for the trust, and share a meaningful nod of understanding between us. I don’t betray this trust and he won’t skin me alive, and like that we’re friends.

Still a little alarming though.

~~~

The day drags by after the crew leaves. For a few hours the shop is empty, aside from a few of the order collections from people who hadn't heard the rumours already milling throughout LS.

After that though, when the many spectators lining the street realising those who enter are actually leaving alive, the floodgates of nosy customers unleash.

For the first time I place an out of order sign on the coffee machine. It still works fine. I'm just not going to deal with that today. 

The first rush of customers aren't too bad. They're still quiet and tentative, looking around with big eyes for the trap, or for the attraction to the cafe. I was surprised how little I cared though, as I made more sales than usual and as the customers who decided to stay ate their pastry I could see the change in their eyes.

The pastries were actually good! Who would believe it!

After an hour or two of that I was able to realise there were no real gang members coming through, thinking perhaps they were scared off by the implications of the Fakes. It didn't stop the journalists though. 

Word was clearly out and those in the loop and brave enough were coming in looking for a story, and boy did they have questions. 

Questions I really didn't know how to answer, if I'm honest. At least I can be good at being abrasive and faking a smile at the same time, and I count my stars for all the time I've spent in various kitchens throughout my years even before culinary school. There little I can think of that would help me keep my cool otherwise.

"Have you had any… irregular or unsavoury customers of late?"

They started off probing, but not rude.

"Would you ever consider offering a tour of this establishment?" 

A bit pushy.

"Can you comment on the known criminal activity in this area?"

Getting there, still careful.

"What is your, and this bakery's, affiliation to the Fake AH Crew?"

There we go, and that's the push every other reporter behind the woman needed to ask the same direct line of questions. Now they knew it wouldn't put them in immediate danger to go poking around the subject matter they were really interested in. 

Not that I answered. The Fakes were friendly to me and didn't set any ground rules, but I wasn't an idiot and they weren't going to take risks. This was as much a test as the meeting this morning was: could I be trusted? And to what extent, especially if Jack was interested in me?

That kept a smile on my face through the day; Jack. Jack was interested in me. Jack was coming by after closing. Jack and I were going on a date. 

Yeah, that kept a smile on my face even as the day wore on around me.

It was mid afternoon, an hour or two until I could turn the sign in the door, when a pair of uniformed cops strode through them clearly on business. I knew them, thank god, so I wasn't skittish at the sight of these regulars.

"Trevor, Barbra." I greeted, keeping a friendly smile. "What can I do for you today?"

"Afraid its work today, I'm sure you know what about, Becca." Trevor says, expression caught between a smile and a grimace. Barb nods along with her partner.

My smile twists a little and I see the sympathy in the couple's faces. 

"Yeah, I thought I might get a visit about that."

"So," Barbra takes over, "Why did the Fake AH Crew visit this store today?"

"I really wish I could tell you." I took a deep breath, drawing on every bit of fear I've ever felt in this city, those fears when I first heard the stories of the gangs and crime here. "They just… showed up.

"I didn't recognise them from anywhere or as regular customers." I let my hands tremor just a little, the lingering pain in my now strained forearm wound adding to the realism of the moment.

"Did they say or do anything to persuade, threaten, or harm you?" Trevor asks gently.

"I- I don't know? Kind of, I suppose. They threatened me, I guess. Or maybe they're just threatening people? I couldn't really think straight I'm sorry." My breath shook as I exhaled, maintaining something of my usual put together attitude, but adding enough fear to prove my two usual customers that I was shaken by the ordeal.

"I'm sorry we have to ask all this Becca, I really am." Barbra seem genuinely apologetic as she continues, "But I need you to tell us what they did while they were here. Any conversation, how many people, any names, any details at all."

"There- there were 6 of them, 5 men and a woman. I- I think- I… oh god…" I stepped back to take a few deep breaths and the officers wait for the moment it takes to compose myself. 

"I think it was the main 6, the- the ones you always see know the news. R-Ramsey, Pattillo, Golden boy, and the one who wears purple? He- he was here too… Mogar and- and- the Vagabond.

"Christ it was terrifying," I let the momentum carry. "They just- they just walked in! Ordered a selection of pastries like it was nothing! I-..."

I rest my head in my hands on the counter between us, breathing heavily and seeming to fight tears. Barb reaches to pay my shoulder, feeling less like a cop and more like a friend.

"Hey Bec, it's okay. Deep breaths. In and out. It's okay, you're safe, they didn't hurt you, did they?"

'Soothed' by her assurances I shook my head, looking up with glassy eyes, but still meek.

"N-no. They didn't." I sputtered a little, though kept strains of hysteria. "They even tipped! Like who the hell- who the hell tips?! Not bloody criminals that's who!" 

I threw my head down again and continued breathing as Barb continued soothing, before Trevor asked another question. 

"Last thing, Becca, at least for now. What happened to your arm? It looks hurt. Was it the Fakes? We'll protect you if you don't feel safe Bec, you know that, don't you?"

"Y-yeah, I know that Trevor. Thank you. It was unrelated, I think. I was attacked walking home on Monday night, this man, he had a knife and it got me when I was getting away. I mace sprayed him. Got to my building and called it in. I don't know what happened to him after that, I was too frazzled and at the time I just wanted to forget it happened.

"God I hope he wasn't one of them!"

And I let the panic come back. "Oh god Barb! Wh-what if he is one of them? What if I really fucked up, what if they're out for me now?!"

"Hey, hey. Shhh, its okay. I think I heard about that report, he's in a cell right now and we've got him down on a few different charges of criminal activity. It's not Fake related as far as we know, so don't worry, Bec. Just keep breathing."

It was surprisingly easy to relax after that, I hadn't realised just how pent up I had become over the issue of this attacker, and to know it was being handled was a relief for me. I wouldn't have to look over my shoulder half as much. 

"Thank you," I say genuinely grateful to the partners in front of me. "I- I really appreciate you telling me that and- and being so understanding right now. I- I want to answer your questions but I've had such a long week and I don't know what's what.

"I hate to ask this of you but could we continue this s- some other time? I- it's been so busy and I need to close up soon and just- I need a break for a minute." 

"Of course, Becca. We understand, and you've given us a lot to work with already. Just let us know if you can think of anything useful that you might have forgotten. We'll check in on you later in the week, but we shouldn't need to ask anymore questions."

Trevor's even tone is reassuring and I get the distinct feeling I passed whatever test this was as the officers say their goodbyes, leave a card, and leave the shop. I know Trev is crooked, so maybe he's on the Fake's payroll too? They employ enough people that he could be, and I have no doubt the Crew needed to check up on me in a few ways.

I maintain the teary and slightly dazed act as I continue working, wiping the counter and clearing tables as the room full of rapt journalists and reporters continue to watch blatantly, observing my every move for any slips they could possibly exploit. 

At 4.30 I flip the sign on the door, a little early but I could hardly be blamed on a day like today, and as the remaining customers part ways they shoot me a small smile, understanding. And no more questions; for now at least they got what they wanted from my not very private police interview. 

I take my time clearing the cafe and kitchen, prepping for the following day and boxing up leftovers. And it's around 6.30, as I finish locking up at the front and moving to mop the kitchen floors, that I hear the rumble of an engine out in the back alley. 

I make the guess that its Jack, surely with intel from Ryan to know where the back door is, and after seeing the shutters down out front she has gone to the back entrance. And on what sounds like a bike. 

Sure enough, as I'm halfway across the floor I hear a knock at the rear door before its propped open with a rounded hip.

And there's Jack.

My Jack. Friday morning Jack. Tea and pastry and talking about her family Jack. 

There was no sign of the infamous Jack Pattillo, Driver, Pilot, and handler of the most dangerous gang in the city.

Just Jack.

I’m not ashamed to say I drop the mop and run to her for a hug, too exhausted from the day to care that we’ve barely ever touched before.

Her arms are strong and yet soft as they wrap around me and her chuckle ripples through me as I tuck my face into her shoulder.

“You doing okay Bec?”

“Yeah,” I nuzzle in a little closer, squeezing tighter as a sway on my tiptoes to even reach her shoulder. “Just been a long day, after you guys left. You know you smell really good?”

And she does. Below the soft scent of deodorant and a spritz of not-too floral perfume, the lingering wafts of gas and motor oil and burnt rubber all mixed together with what I can only describe as warmth. I liked how Jack smelled. It made me feel cosy inside.

And she gave really good hugs. 

“Do I? I’ve been in the garage all day, I haven’t even had time to wash up properly.”

I think she sounded a little sheepish, and the thought made me give a small laugh. My Jack, or Jack Pattillo for that matter, embarrassed? It didn’t feel likely.

With one last squeeze I pulled away a little, giving as wide a smile as I could manage through the yawn that overtook me.

“I like the smell of cars. I have a lot of fond memories of being around cars growing up.”

“That's good to know, then. You’ll have to tell me about them sometime.” she looks down at me, smiling unabashedly. “You smell better though, no argument. Fresh baked pastries? Heavenly.”

“We can argue about that later.” I pull away, going to pick up the mop and finish off. “I’m nearly done here, just need to finish the floor and then we can go. You don’t mind waiting?”

“Not at all, I can help if you want?”

“No, it's okay! I feel bad enough I wasn’t done on time.”

“Oh, Becca, don't worry about that, I’m sure you were swamped after our visit this morning.” she pauses, taking a deep breath. 

“I really am sorry about that, Becca. I really tried to talk them out of it, even to just go normally instead of the full get-up. The lads tried too, but Geoff and R- Vagabond weren’t taking no for an answer.”

“Hey, that's okay! I understand why, Jack, and I’m not mad or anything. They’re protective and they’re your family and that’s important.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course, Jack. Besides, business has never been better.”

I’m relieved when she cracks a smile again, and my heart flutters at the sound of that laugh.

We fall into comfortable silence as I finish the floor, empty and clean the mop bucket and pack everything away, grabbing my stuff.

“Hey, Jack?” I ask, feeling nervous. “I- do you mind if we just go back to mine and order some food in? Its- its just I am really tired and its been a long day and I have work again tomorrow and-”

“Of course, Becca.” Jack cuts off my rambling with a smile, understanding and amused. “That sounds like fun, and I can see that you need a little rest. Its been a long day for me too, so that sounds nice.”

She passes me a helmet as we step out the back and toss the rubbish into the appropriate bins. I climb onto the bike behind her, a beautiful and well maintained machine, but nothing too eye-catching.

As we pull out I relax into her back, moving with her as we corner and weave through traffic, moving way too fast but I feel at ease, trusting the woman with me to keep me safe.

~~~

We spend the night curled up on the sofa together, talking over movies as my cat winds around us pawing for attention from her new favourite.

We share stories of our pasts and dreams of our futures, of the people we love and the families we have left and have found. I hear a lot of stories about the crew, and as time wears on I am content that I will forever have friends among them. I find myself excited to visit their base for the next game night, as Jack promises to take me along.

We kiss a lot too, soft lips and soft bodies, slow movements and wondering hands as we get to know each other more and more, closer and closer.

Every brush of a fingertip. Every press of a lip and swipe of a tongue. Every little piece of contact sent a thrill through me. And I’m sure were we both not exhausted there would have been a number of other thrills that night.

As it was, Jack carried me to my room as I dosed into her neck and she ran her hands soothingly up and down my back. 

At my mumbled, nearly incomprehensible request for her to stay, she slipped under the covers and allowed me to snuggle in close once again, happy to sleep now nestled against her chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> This was never supposed to be this long so If you stuck it out to this point I'm proud lmao  
> I initially wrote this to get over writer's block I have for another, much more complex FAHC!Jack/OC story I have in the works, and it helped a bit but I'm still working on how I actually write things.   
> I feel like sometimes its too detailed and others its too vague, so I'm trying to find that balance of what the story needs to make sense and still be interesting.  
> Any constructive criticism and things to work on would be great and really really appreciated 
> 
> Rach xx


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